


Always

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Friendship, Hogwarts Era, The Quidditch Pitch: From Diagon Alley to Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-06
Updated: 2006-02-06
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Ginny has gotten herself in serious trouble and only Hermione can really make her feel better... Ginny/Hermione. Forced Ginny/Draco and convenient Ginny/Harry.





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: This was to prove to myself I could write femslash. I can't tell you why it turned out so dark...  


* * *

Draco was seated by the window; a cigarette clasped in his thin fingers. She watched him from across the room, the bedclothes held over her body as a pathetic form of protection against his wandering eyes.  


 

He still scared her. Six months and he could still scare her. It was his eyes. His eyes always wanted something from her. They leeched any comfort she could have. They scorned and mocked and stabbed. They called her a whore. They claimed ownership, birthright. They told her she was hated, but sometimes, just before he came, they told her she was loved. That it would be ok. This time would be different. They lied.  


 

He still hurt her, every time he took her, he hurt her… But she got used to the pain. She knew it got worse if she resisted. Like a little boy, he needed to be reassured. Even when it was against her will, he needed to be reassured, told her was good, that this made her feel good. So, she moaned and screamed in the right places. She ever groaned his name. It got better after that.  


 

Sometimes, he apologized if he noticed the tears streaming down from her eyes. He would kiss them away and whisper that he was sorry over and over again, and for a little while they would lie curled against each other, listening to the mutual heartbeat. Three hours later he would be on top of her, taking her again. And she would be crying, and he wouldn’t notice.  


 

She sat up, her ginger hair sweeping over her once smooth, porcelain shoulders. Everyone remarked how childlike she was, how innocent, with a cupid’s mouth and brown sweet eyes. Like a little doll her Mother would cluck proudly. She wasn’t a doll any more… In between where her hair fell were bites, scratches and raw red marks from where he sucked. He loved her shoulders; he saw them as his property. He saw every part of her as his property.  


 

_“You are mine,”_ He hissed one night, after she had tried to run, and he had ended up taking her against the locked door. _“Forever mine, until you bore me… but don’t look forward to that day my darling Virginia, because you know  none of your family will be there to celebrate,”_ She had bowed her head then, and bit her lip. She knew then that this was no longer a game, no longer a silly rebellious tryst. It had surpassed that as soon as she had felt the blood run between her legs, and looked up at his malicious smile.  


 

“I have to go,” she said, the morning sun casting rays across the room. The dust particles swam and floated in amongst the strips of light. She wondered if some of them were part of her, her skin flakes after the rough night. He just nodded, and threw the cigarette out the window.  


 

She gathered and slipped on her robes. She picked up her shoes, but didn’t pull them on. Barefoot was quieter in the early morning. Besides, she liked feeling the cold tiles beneath her feet. It helped remind her that this was all real. Draco laughed the first time he noticed. _‘That’s how I like my women; barefoot. Now all we need is a kitchen.’_    


 

He whispered an invisibility spell over her, and then unlocked the door. Their ritual, tradition, it had almost become habit. He never spoke after the night, never even noticed her, unless it was to unlock the door. And it was always locked.  


 

She slipped quietly into the common room. It was dark and silent, another hour yet before the students were to be up. The fire had long since died and she shivered, her midriff bare against the breeze whistling down the chimney.  


 

She heard muffled footsteps on the carpet, but didn’t move. She knew who it was, even before she felt the kisses on her neck, and light caress on her waist. She dropped the bundle of clothes and felt herself being led to a chair near the fireplace. A softly murmured word and a blaze shot up amongst the ash. As she was lowered down onto the armchair, her robes were removed from around her, so she sat naked, apart from a pair of white panties with pink bows on either side.  


 

Hermione tutted sadly at the state of her young love's body. “He really did a number on you last night,” she said softly, stroking the marks and lines crisscrossing over her pale skin. She knelt down and kissed everywhere that blood had been drawn. In amongst the safety and warmth of the room and in the arms of her love; Ginny began to cry. Hot tears spilled from her eyes, stinging the marks on her neck.    


 

Hermione whispered comforting words as she removed every blemish upon her skin with a stroke of her wand and a red spark. Then she held her naked body until a bell rang.  


 

“Fifteen minutes,” she whispered uncurling herself from the chair. Gin nodded and stood obediently still as 'Mione wrapped her robes back around her body. A quick kiss on the lips and then the older girl headed up the stairs to the common room, ruffling her hair to make her look sleepier then she was.  


 

Ginny was silent for a minute, then called out, almost desperate: “Tomorrow Morning?” She could see Hermione’s nod, before she disappeared round a corner.  


 

At breakfast, she would be seated next to Harry, his arm firmly around her waist. At breakfast, she would talk lightly with Hermione, makeup and spells hiding her dark circles. At breakfast, she would ignore Draco’s cold smirk and get with the banalities of life.  


 

At dinner, she would leave Harry’s side early, feign tiredness, and head towards the Slytherin Common room, Draco in tow.  


 

In the morning, she would be in Hermione’s arms, crying, as the girl healed her wounds and her heart.  


 

Always she lived for the morning. Always after she would act and play, pout and smile, scream and groan. Always she lived for the morning; always it passed too soon… Always too soon.  



End file.
